


Polished To A Tarnished Shine

by StarrBryte



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Character Study, Gen, Mentions of miscarriage, Redemption, References to Torture, character musings, mentions of stillbirth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-04 23:18:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16799038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarrBryte/pseuds/StarrBryte
Summary: Mordin Solus has done many terrible things in his life. Many terrible things. However, nothing felt as terrible as sitting safe in the Shroud, working on the Genophage and watching a young mother earn her first wisdom.





	Polished To A Tarnished Shine

**Author's Note:**

> I found this fic in one of my Nanowrimo folders. I cleaned it up, polished it and, with the end of Nanowrimo 2018, am ready to finally post this. 
> 
> Mass Effect broke me in a lot of ways. I love it in a way I love few other stories. Mordin Solus' story was... a trip. You had to really pay attention to see the wealth of pain and guilt this Salarian had inside him. He was one of my favorite characters and I wrote this to sort of try and process my emotions about all the things he did and went through. And his story is so tightly woven into that of Tuchanka and the Krogan. I have gone through some rough patches in my life and listening to Bakara was sort of like a balm. Made me feel a bit better about my life. "Pain makes you wise."
> 
> The main body of this takes place during Mordin's time working on the Genophage so it might be a bit handwavey where years and timelines are concerned. This also has some world-building for the Krogan culture. I fully believe that the Krogan were originally a matriarchal society, which makes the up-lifting and the Genophage so much worse in context.
> 
> I'll probably put this in a series of fics about Mordin, I have a few snippets of unfinished stuff here and there, maybe I'll finish it one day. Maybe. Also I love that Urdnot Mordin has a tag on here, I'll have to check those out.

Mordin had been in the STG for nearly a decade before he was sent to Tuchanka to assist in the reconfiguration of the Genophage. He was sent in with four other scientists and two agents. He was the only one skilled in both. His senior science adviser had been living in the Shroud for nearly five years and had spent most of his life working with the Genophage. He was as cold and calculating as a Salarian scientist could be and Mordin looked up to him. It was all about numbers and results. The Krogan were evolving and Mordin found that fascinating. He was seeing adaptations and mutations in their samples and subjects in real time. There was a settlement nearby that avoided the Shroud itself but every once in a while they would see either a funeral procession leaving a body to the thresher maws or a group of females doing whatever mysterious rites that female Krogan did. Mordin was curious about them. He hesitated to use the word fascinated although that was closer to the truth. They were so unlike the brash and war-like males. While a female Krogan could hold her own in a fight, most often she would use diplomacy and a wily intellect to trick or manipulate or convince. They wore colorful patterned scarves and veils, burka that only reached their knees, revealing sensible leggings and boots. It was the females that were the key to all this. While the Genophage affected both genders it was the females that took the brunt of it. Hormones, reproductive organs, the whole of their bodies put under stress. Mordin had a theory that he kept to himself, not wanting to make many waves at this point in the study. It was the females who were mutating. It was the females who were forcing an evolutionary change on themselves. While a fertile female was considered a precious commodity it was the female who decided who she would mate with and when. 

While the Krogan Rebellions were many years behind them the Krogan themselves were still considered a threat. Krogan females were known to only bear one or two offspring at a time but children became independent quickly and once out of toddlerhood a female could be ready to breed again in only a few short years. In her lifetime, without the Genophage, a single breeding pair could have nearly over a hundred children. When pressed to her limit a female could be fertile again in as soon as one week. Gestation was little bit less than a year. There were currently three hundred females on Tuchanka. Of those three hundred, seventy-five of them were fertile. Of those seventy-five, fifteen were actively trying to breed and of those fifteen, seven of them were pregnant. If none of them miscarried, their children would be born within the next few months. Of those seven, two lived in the settlement near the Shroud. The settlement had been very quiet recently, the Krogan who ventured out were laying in supplies. They were hopeful. Cautious. The un-fertile females spent some time each day venturing out into the wastes, leaving gifts of food and metal for Kalross. If ever Mordin believed the Krogan had religion, it was watching the females tend to the voracious Spirit of Tuchanka. The ever hungry Mother of Maws. 

Mordin continued his work, tentatively bringing forth his theories and ideas. The lead science adviser may have been grim and a bit too into finding ways to completely sterilize the Krogan for good, but he was a smart Salarian. He put Mordin in charge of seeing his theories through. 

The night Mordin completed the newest version of the Genophage, the Krogan female went into labor. 

They had been keeping an eye on the settlement through an observational relay, satellite imagery and a good old-fashioned telescope. Once he was finished clearing his lab Mordin settled himself in the observatory to wait. While his whole job was in preventing the Krogan from having babies he had grown somewhat fondly attached to the settlement and their behaviors. He decided that after this job was done he might just get a degree in xenoscience. It would be good work and he would get to study different species without affecting them. His work here had felt necessary, but not... clean. It felt much like some of the wet work he'd done in the STG. Dirty, but necessary. Xenoscience felt cleaner morally. Might get dirty physically but bathing would take care of that. While the sands of Tuchanka scoured rocks and ancient buildings to a tarnished, polished shine, he hoped that he could become like those rocks too, morally, spiritually. Maybe. Hopefully. Not clean and crystal bright, like the polished stones in the waters of Sur'Kesh, but scoured with glints of reflective light through the grit of time. 

The males were on the move. This time they were taking gifts to the thresher maws. They were agitated. Nervous. He could hear them chanting from the observatory as they made their way back to their homes. He could tell which house she was in because light blazed from every window. He could faintly hear them singing. They were resolute. They were strong. No negativity was allowed within a mile of the place it seemed. Some males had been kicked out of the settlement entirely and were camping in one of the ruins a few miles away.

Mordin found himself drawn into the strangely hypnotic pattern the Krogan were taking. It was meditative with a thin string of anticipation and dread. Like waiting in a blind for hours, waiting for a target to get into sight. 

He was startled from the strange trance by his science adviser clearing his throat. He almost reached for the gun that wasn't at his side.

“Sorry. Didn't hear you. Needed me for something?” Mordin asked. 

“You've been here since last night.” The science advisor said before nodding towards the distant settlement, “Watching the subjects?” 

“Watching Krogan.” Mordin corrected absently, turning back to the window, “Fertile female in labor. Krogan are waiting to see what happens. I'm waiting to see what happens too.”

“Hmm. Should have brought pregnant female in.” the science adviser murmured. Mordin turned to look at him.

“Would have been excellent test subject for new Genophage research. Excellent study of embryonic degeneration and fetal death... Test hormones as they develop.” The science adviser clarified. 

For the first time since he arrived Mordin felt himself disagree. Wholeheartedly. 

“Infant might still live. More and more are being born alive. Whole reason I was brought in.” He said. The science adviser simply looked at him with such a blank stare that for a moment Mordin wondered if his mentor were even still alive inside. Or if he was just a corpse with thought conducting research as cold as his insides. Bit like horror stories of synthetics. Bit like witness accounts of Geth attacks. Bit like his own reports on those same subjects. 

Mordin had done many terrible things in his life. But he felt they always had a purpose, even if he couldn't see it right away. He knew this had purpose but for some reason he couldn't feel like he would ever see that purpose come to a satisfactory conclusion. Or even if he did he wouldn't live long enough to see that conclusion bear fruit. The scientist and the science adviser stared at each other for long moments before the elder turned away.

“The likeliness of that infant being born alive is one in a thousand. There are only three hundred females left. Of those three hundred females only seventy-five are fertile. Of those seventy-five only seven of them are pregnant. One out of seven are fairly good odds. One out of seventy-five, not so much. One out of three hundred is abysmal. One out of a thousand and you might as well give up right there. Those kinds of odds it's a wonder those females are even still trying.” He said. Mordin turned back to the window. From what he could tell by the colors of the lamps being lit the lights would change once the female had given birth. 

No baby yet.

By this point the female Krogan had been in labor for nearly ten hours. From what he had observed the female Krogan had been extremely careful with her health from the foods she ate to how far she traveled from home. From the research he had read a Krogan labor could last anywhere from two hours to two days. At this point no news was good news. 

“One in a thousand odds is still one in a thousand odds.” He said to himself, “One chance is all we need.” He didn't bother to correct himself. He was invested. Fascinated. In far too deep.

The females were fasting. They held vigil in the house where their sister was. The place was quarantined and he had to admire the foresight. Every precaution they could make they were making. Mordin found himself wanting to join them. To watch first hand. Not to touch, not to influence, just to see. He wasn't sure why. He didn't know why he felt the way he did and he didn't question it. His feelings were why he had joined the STG, why he had become a scientist, why he had agreed to this assignment. He wanted to at least see this through before he went home. He wanted one clean thing to take with him. Preventing a genocide by causing sterility was a fine balance. Maybe an impossible miracle would help keep that balance in check. 

It was a cause to find hope in. 

Three hours later the female Krogan began to scream. The sound went on and on. Soon the other females sent their cries into the air to join her. Soon the entire settlement was keening their loss. After an hour it quieted down. Most taking the grief and internalizing it, fueling their inherent rage at the universe. The females continued to wail, the mother's voice rising above the rest. 

It took Mordin a moment to realize that one of the sounds was coming from him. It was quiet but the sound caught in his throat, escaping from the strange tightness that had formed in his chest. 

He hadn't been there. He hadn't even been a part of this. He had been locked away in this tower creating a way to keep the Krogan from having children, in a way he had been part of this. He hadn't been the reason for this but he couldn't help but feel that what he had accomplished had helped in snuffing out a life before it had even begun to start.

Krogan were dangerous. Krogan had been living the ragged edge of survival for hundreds and hundreds of years. Not thriving, but surviving. It was one of the reasons the Salarians had uplifted them. It had all come down to survival and the Krogan were the best. What they weren't good at was knowing what to do with all that power. The uplifting hadn't been a mistake, per say, but there should have been more control on the amount of technology allowed to them. Or maybe they should have spoken with the females. Mordin was beginning to get the sneaking suspicion that not a lot of research had gone into the Krogan before the uplifting. Matriarchal species were very very different from patriarchal ones. It made him wonder, if given the chance for a cure to the Genophage, would the Krogan be wiser with that gift? Would they concentrate on rebuilding Tuchanka and renewing themselves or would they continue as they had during the rebellions? Too hard to tell. Too dangerous to tell. The females who would have been the voices of reason and control were suffering too badly to rein in the males, who were too angered by their position and too reckless with no one to control them.

As the Tuchanka sun began to rise he watched the female Krogan carry her small burden out into the desert. She sat in the sand and tended the tiny corpse as if it were still alive. She sang to it and rocked it. The other females came and tried to convince her to come back with them. She fought them off. It took four males to drag her away. She screamed and wailed as they dragged her back, leaving the bundle behind.

Mordin had known when he had entered the STG that hundreds, even thousands of lives would come to depend on him and his team. He had known it learning science that his knowledge would potentially save the lives of millions. He had killed. He had tortured and maimed in the name of the things he had been working for. 

This hit him like a bullet to the heart. Like a scalpel to the brain. Unclean. Mentally. Emotionally. Morally. 

He finished his final report on the Genophage. He was congratulated by his peers, given recommendations and told that whatever he wanted to study next he would have full support. 

Instead of moving on to his next project, his next field of study, he went home. Back to Sur'Kesh. Back to his family compound. He arrived at his sister's house unannounced. She didn't question the unexpected visit, only expressed gratefulness that he had caught her on her day off. She could always tell when something was bothering him. He didn't speak. Couldn't talk about his work. In this moment he couldn't even lie. So she talked instead. About her partner and his newest batch of students. About some of their other siblings and what they were doing. About an aunt who had recently passed. 

Then she told him that she and her partner were thinking about children. That now that they were settled into their jobs they had the resources for it. It would be simple and easy, all the contracts dotted and signed. Won't it be fun?

In the face of his sister's excitement and joy at the prospect of motherhood, the sound of the female krogan's sobs still echoed in his ears. 

“What is it Mordy?” She asked, “What's wrong?”

He didn't say anything and when she opened her arms, he leaned into her, listening to her heartbeat, suddenly wanting to push her away, keep her from being touched by the uncleanness that seemed to suffuse his entire being. 

He couldn't see his purpose anymore.

Finding it would be difficult. Maybe impossible. 

One in a thousand odds. 

He couldn't even cry.

Mordin Solus was broken and a part of him always would be. It would be fifteen years later, with Urdnot Bakara's hands crushing his ribcage, her rasping wheezes in his ears and her blood-shot, tear-filled enraged gaze boring into his that Mordin would feel like that broken piece had a chance of being mended. Here was an opportunity. Here was the amalgamation of the things that haunted his dreams at night, more so than any other nightmare of his life. He reached out his hand and touched her gaunt cheek.

“Please.” He said. And that word held so much meaning he knew that he could never explain, never convey what it was he was asking.

Please, let me help you. 

Please, let me save you.

Please, let me give you back what I stole.

Please, help me fix my mistakes.

Please, forgive me.

Just. Please.

One in a thousand odds the then nameless Krogan female turned her grip from threatening to pleading.

“Help me.” She rasped. Mordin took her hand and squeezed, trying to match her ferocity with his determination.

“I will.” He promised.

(One hundred and fifty years later Urdnot Mordin would stand as Councilor and representative of her people on the Galactic Political Stage. Her voice strong and her gestures sure. Her mother's eyes wise above veils patterned and colored like a Sur'Kesh sunrise. Her father's temper ensuring that she would be taken seriously. Tales of her namesake a much loved and often repeated refrain.)


End file.
